


Message Man

by paperback92



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Depressed Steve Rogers, F/M, Gen, Hurt Steve Rogers, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Past Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Protective Natasha, Sick Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, cameo from tony stark, she has such a soft spot for steve, someone please give him a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 13:52:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5542340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperback92/pseuds/paperback92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is starting to remember. </p>
<p>He takes to the city easier then he expected. He tries to act normal, tries to use his manners. There is still a man hunt going on and maybe no one would think that The Winter Solider says please and thank you. The museum gives him some answers but not all. He figures that there's only one person that can answer his questions.The only problem is that person is currently stowed away in a hospital with some of the nation’s top security guarding him. He thinks it won’t be too much of an issue.</p>
<p>He's right and it actually concerns him just how easy it is to kidnap Captain America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Message Man

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song Message Man from Twenty One Pilots.
> 
> Enjoy!

He is starting to remember. 

Objectively he knows a lot of facts about James Buchannan “Bucky” Barnes. He stumbled upon a museum that has a whole wing dedicated to Captain America and his friends. There isn’t too much said about Bucky Barnes though. Just a wall of basic facts and a couple new reels where he stood by Captain America’s side. He still goes often, at least a couple times a day when the guards change shifts so no one sees him more the once.

It’s been a week since he failed his mission. He waited behind a dumpster for a whole day after before figuring out that no one was coming for him. He found an abandoned apartment building in the heart of the city to stay in that was close to being condemned, if it wasn’t already. But it’s close to the museum and close enough to the hospital where the mission-… Steve is in.

He takes to the city easier than he expected himself too. People are careless so it’s not difficult to steal clothes and money. He remembers English most of the time but when he doesn’t the city is diverse enough to accommodate to whatever language he can speak at that time. He discovers that he knows a lot of them. 

On a day when he can only remember Russian, he stumbles across an old world bakery run by an elderly couple who remind him of two chirping birds. They fall all over him like he’s their long lost soviet son. 

He doesn’t hate it.

He had stood outside the store front that day for an hour, debating wither or not to go in. It was the lingering smell of pastries and his fear of passing out from hunger in the middle of the street that finally drew him in. She had kept a close eye on him as he slowly passed by the display, taking in all the options and franticly doing the math for what his money could buy him. 

“What are you doing to get? We’re not open all day.” The little old bird woman had barked and Barnes held back the growl of frustration at the use of a language he knew he could understand if his head was screwed on straight. 

“The gingerbread.” His Russian was still excellent after all these years. “Please.” He added, trying to at least act like a polite member of society. A man hunt for him was still going now and maybe no one would suspect that a man who said please and thank you was the Winter Solider. 

Her beady bird eyes, magnified by thick glasses, had lit up and she called for her husband. The rest was honestly a blur for Barnes. They chatted at him in excited Russian, fed him, and refused to take any of his money. He suspected that they thought he was homeless foreigner, but he didn’t mind since it wasn’t far from the truth. 

So he had let them fuss over him, push sandwiches and sweets at him until he was stuffed for the first time he could remember in his life. He had managed to make it two blocks away before all the rich treats came back up behind a dumpster. He decided it was worth it and kept going back. The bird couple seemed delighted each time to see him.

Pieces of memory plague what little sleep he gets. They often steal time from him. Sometimes he only loses minutes. Sometimes it’s only hours. One time he lost a whole day.  
He hears from a television in a small café that Steve is still in the hospital. The woman mentions something about unexpected complications being the cause. The older women at the table next to him shake their heads and say what a shame it is. They met him once at the super market. He’s such a nice young man, they tell Barnes. 

He tries to remember how to smile for them.

He remembers a different Steve Rogers. Not the man that he beat his face in, or the one that he sees on the news and children’s lunch boxes, or even the young man that’s so nice to strange women at super markets. No, he remembers a smaller one. One that would spend days sick in bed, seemingly only taking comfort from Bucky Barnes sitting at his side. 

The museum doesn’t say much about this version of Steve. He is able to find more information about him on the internet. Some goon left their nice expensive laptop unattended at an outside café. He was able to swipe it easily and considered it as teaching the guy an important life lesson.

During his internet search, he comes across a Buzzfeed article in titled ’25 Things We Bet You Don’t Know about Captain American’. At least fifteen things listed are absolutely reckless stupid things that Steve has done such as: volunteer to be government lab rat -he thinks he knew about that one-, throw himself head first into an fist fit with aliens- he didn’t know about that that one-, and crash a plane into the Atlantic ocean. He definitely didn’t know about that. 

He puts both fists thru the wall after reading it, although he’s not entirely sure why.

The museum also doesn’t say anything about a tall woman with brown hair and kind eyes that would lick her thumb and furiously scrub at a smudge of dirt on his cheek. Or a little girl with wide hazel eyes that would beg him to take her to the park then act like it was the best day of her life when they went. Or of five other little girls that knew how to quickly kill a grown man without making a mess. 

He figures that there is probably only one person that can help him figure out what the internet and museums can’t tell him. The only problem is that person is currently stowed away in a hospital with some of the nation’s top security guarding him. 

He thinks it won’t be too much of an issue.  
*  
It actually concerns he just how easy it is to kidnap Captain America. 

He stakes out the place for the day. Through the scope of a rifle he found in an old HYDRA base, he finds that Steve has a room with a view of a seldom used parking lot. There are two guards outside his door at all time but no other security that Barnes can find. He has two regular visitors: the redhead and the man with the wings. 

Which reminds Barnes that he needs to replace them. 

Once a loud man with a goatee visits. Steve rouses long enough to engage in the barest minim of small talk before falling asleep. The redhead totally ignores him and stares at her phone until the man finally takes the hint and leaves. 

Watching her for too long makes his head go fuzzy for some reason. 

The redhead leaves soon after that but not before pressing a kiss to a sleeping Steve’s forehead. Barnes watches him wake up enough to grab her small hand then pass right back out. She’s gone for a couple hours when the man with the wings comes in and takes her place in the chair by the hospital bed.

The man had just started to doze when his cell phone goes off. He looks equal parts amused and afraid. He deliberates for a moment before answering it. Barnes adjusts, stiff from laying on his belly all day. It’s dark now but he can still easily read wing man’s lips.

“Hey girl. He’s ok, been sleeping. Nah, haven’t broken yet. Hasn’t been able to beat it yet. They put him on a new anti-biotic after you left.” He pauses. “No, I haven’t seen any sign of him.” His brow furors and he uncrosses his long legs, leaning forward in the chair. “Really? That’s interesting. You sure that it’s him?” 

He looks a little afraid again and speaks hurriedly. “No, no, no, not doubting you. Just asking. I was just about to leave, think he’ll be ok until you get here?” He nods. “Ok. Keep me updated.” He slides the phone back into his pocket, stands up and stretches.

“Alright, Cap.” He says to the sleeping man. “I’ll be back in the morning. Nat will be here in a little bit and she sounds extra scary tonight. Good luck.” 

Barnes is off the roof top and across the road by the time wing man gets to his car. It’s nothing for him to scale the bricks, brake the lock on the window, and slip into the room undetected. 

When he sees Steve, it feels like someone has punched him in the gut and he has to remind himself how to breathe. 

Despite his hulking frame, Steve looks so impossibly small laying there. His face is littered with colorful bruises that Barnes knows he put there. He favors his right side, trying to curl in on himself in his sleep. One eye is swollen completely and the other doesn’t look much better. Cuts line his cheekbones and his upper lip is split open.

“Why’d you have to go and do that, Stevie?” He hears someone says and the memory hits him so hard and fast that-

“Why’d you have to go and do that, Stevie?”

The younger boy’s frown deepens and he slumps further into the chair. He is thirteen now but is so small that he looks ten. He’s gotten himself roughed up real good again. His bottom lip is busted wide open and is sporting a hell of a shiner. He pouts and one hand wanders up to pick at his spilt lip. 

“Stop that.” He snaps, lightly slapping the skinny hand away from the cut. The action makes Steve’s frown morph into a full on scowl. 

“Couldn’t you have just left it alone?” He asks, his tone weary as he presses a hunk of ice to the cut. This was the third fight already this month that he had to clean his friend up after and if it kept up he was afraid there’d be nothing left to patch up. 

“Couldn’t, Buck.” Steve says defensively, always ready for a fight. “He was talking about Roy’s ma again.”

He tries to bite back a sigh but it slips out anyways. Roy was one of the few boys that was actually friendly to Steve and didn’t tease him about his size. Roy’s ma had only been dead a few months. Of course, Steve had tried to fight the much older and much bigger boys. That was Steve Rogers, vanquisher of school yard bullies. 

“You couldn’t have at least waited for me?”

That brings a smile to Steve’s face and he speaks around the ice with numb lips. “Next time, Buck. Next time for sure.”

When Barnes comes back to himself, he knows he’s lost time. His stolen watch it tells him that he’s lost five minutes this time. It’s a critical mistake though. One that could have gotten him caught and killed. 

Thankfully the redhead has not come back yet but he knows he’s running out of time. He ghosts around the room, unplugging non vital machines and removing tubes and IVs. He’s removing the last IV when Steve makes a small noise and shifts in his sleep, his brows knit together. His eyelashes just start to flutter open when Barnes clamps a hand over his nose and mouth. 

Steve’s eyes fly open and he wakes in a blind panic. He instinctively claws at the Soldier’s hands and wrists, sliding off the metal arm but drawing blood on flesh arm with his nails. Barnes presses down harder. Steve’s eyes finally roll back into his head and he finally passes out. 

Barnes lifts the unconscious man over his shoulders and leaves the way he came.  
*

The apartment is the only place he feels is safe enough to bring Steve. He’s been there a week and no one has come poking around so far. He settles Steve on the lumpy couch that the previous owner had left behind and tries to still his franticly beating heart.

His hands shake for a solid hour and he paces back and forth through the room, as if he could walk away from the sudden bouts of anxiety that clench and seize his lungs. Barnes knows that Steve is not the same sickly kid that Bucky Barnes often nursed back to health. But he still finds himself checking if he’s breathing properly. Listening intently for the telltale wheeze of struggling lungs. He finds himself with a hand resting on the sleeping man’s forehead, checking for a fever, and frowning when he’s slightly warmer then Barnes’ brain tells him is acceptable.

It’s an hour before Steve begins to stir. He wakes slowly. His brow furrows and smooth out a few times before his eyes blink open fully. He struggles to get sit up and after a few moments of grunts and soft sounds of pain, he’s upright. He breathes heavily, as if the simple action sapped all of his energy. 

Then he realizes that he’s not at the hospital. Every muscle in his large frame tense up. His fingers twitch as if searching for his shield. He pitches himself forward and is only barely able to stand when Barnes intervenes, stepping into his line of sight.

“You’re safe.”

Steve blinks at him for a moment then lets out a breath and relaxes from his defensive stance. “Bucky?”

“That’s not my name.” He says.

“I’m sorry.” Steve says and he really does look it. “What should I call you?” 

“Barnes.” 

“Ok.” Steve says and nods slowly, processing this new situation. He looks around the dingy room warily, one eyebrow ticked upwards, but he doesn’t look scared or alarmed. If anything, Barnes thinks, he looks put out. Like this unexpected kidnapping interrupted his evening’s plans. He’s not in a defensive stance any longer but Barnes can see the tension holding his back taunt and rigid. 

He’s in pain, Barnes realizes. 

“Sit down.” He instructs. 

Steve opens his mouth like he wants to argue but apparently thinks better of it. He obeys, stiffly lowering himself down on the couch. He closes his eyes briefly and rests a hand on his belly. It’s one of the places that he shot him. That thought brings a strange pang that Barnes can’t place. For a moment, he doesn’t see the large and looming Captain America on the couch but a small, frail boy. 

Barnes’ legs move without his permission and takes him to Steve’s side. He’s still not sure why he does it again, but he gently lays his flesh hand on Steve’s forehead. The simple action didn’t elicit a reaction from a sleeping Steve. But now awake, Steve starts and goes absolutely still. 

Then he sighs and practically melts into the touch as if touch starved. Barnes, startled at the change, pulls away. The corner of Steve’s lips tug downward unhappily but he stays quiet, eyes still closed. 

Barnes frowns. He’s still warm, warmer then what Barnes thinks would be acceptable for a healthy body. A shiver tears through Steve-

They are in the mountains. It’s snowing. They are sitting around a crackling fire. There are five other men with them, all tired. His feet ache and he feel the exhaustion that seeps into his bones like a second marrow. Even Steve is tired. He knows those telltale tight lines around his eyes and mouth but Steve won’t stay still. He’s on edge. 

He had a close call today. A Hydra agent had crept up from behind and would have blasted Steve’s head clean off if Bucky didn’t get his first. It had been a couple of hours ago but Steve was only just starting to come down off of a super soldiered adrenaline rush. He watches him pace around their makeshift campground, occasionally disappearing beyond the tree lines searching for something and reappearing somehow jittery then before. 

“Sit down, Cap. You’re making us all nervous.” One of the men says softly.

“It’s just an adrenaline rush.” Another says. “Take a rest before you crash.” 

“Tell him, Sarge.” Says one more.

Steve looks to Bucky and he answers with a one shouldered shrug. His face crumbles for a moment before he turns on his heels and walks once more into the forest. He’s gone for a good five minutes and just when Bucky decides to go after him is when Steve trudges back to the group slowly and sits heavily by Bucky’s side. His new large hands tremble with the fine tremors that move throughout his body. He’s still not used to seeing Steve like this: big and bulky. 

The adrenaline crashes aren’t new though. Steve would get them all the time when he jumped into a fight that he thought he could win. He still lost but he’d be so excited, so pumped that when he crashed, he crashed hard. He always reacted the same way. Like a drunk that was being weaned off the good stuff. He’d pace around, antsy and sweaty. When he would finally be convinced to sit down, he’d shake like it was 10 below. 

At least they didn’t change everything, Bucky thinks then chides himself for the selfish thought. This is better for Steve. No more losing days to fever. No more listening to the desperate wheeze of lungs that can’t pull in enough air. No more protruding ribs and a spine you could see the outline of through his clothes. 

Steve leans his head back on the tree behind him and out of instinct, Bucky wipes away the thin sheen of sweat from his brow. He frowns. “You’re running hot there, Rogers.”

Steve gives him a little smile. “Guess they couldn’t fix everything.”

“Guess they couldn’t fix everything.”

Steve blinks owlishly at him for what seems like an eternity then, slowly, a small smile forms. “Guess not.” 

He falls asleep shortly after that, adjusting so that he’s laying across the couch cushions and curled up into himself like an overgrown puppy. He looks peaceful expect for the frown that sits between his brows. Barnes ignores the urge to smooth it away.

He waits and makes sure that no one else will come and kidnap the Captain. He goes to slip out of the window then on an impulse drapes a ratty blanket over the man. He starts walking down the dark and empty streets. It’s late but he knows that the bird bakery will still be open.

“Sasha!” The tiny bird woman greets when he arrives and he feels badly that he can’t remember her name. She bustles out from around the counter and fusses over him as if she hadn’t just seen him two days ago. 

“Pa, Sasha is here! Just look at you! You’re too thin. Come and sit.” She says while patting down the fly a ways that have escaped from the tight bun and crowding him towards a chair. 

“I can’t stay,” He says, successfully dodging her attempt to wipe some non-exist dirt off of his cheek. “I have, um, company.” Company was a very liberal word for the man he kidnapped and is sleeping in his stolen apartment but it’s the best he could come up with.

“Company?” Her eyes narrow and an eye brow raises as if she’s doubtful. She takes the sight of him in and he squirms under gaze.

She doesn’t believe him. She knows who he really is. She knows he’s wanted. He needs to bolt. He needs to go now. 

He starts to shift towards the door but stops when she smiles again. “Company!” She beams at her elderly husband who has emerged from the kitchen. “Good for you, Sasha. What does she like?”

The tips of his ears burn red and he’s mortified that these bird woman is making him react this way. “He.” He corrects softly. “An old friend that stopped by late. I don’t remember what he likes.” He ducks his head to avoid the couple’s sudden sad gaze. “He’s big though, has to eat a lot.” 

As if he’s said the magic words, they load him down with bags of food. Pastries, sandwiches, and some spicy smelling items that make his stomach churn but he feels grateful none the less. They accept the meager cash that he stole from Steve’s wallet, even though it’s obvious that it doesn’t cover what the large amount of food truly costs. They act as if it’s more than enough and he’s on his way. 

It’s morning when Steve wakes up again. The apartment is bathed in soft yellow light and Barnes can’t tell if Steve is paler then he was a few hours ago or if the light is playing tricks with his eyes. Steve manages to stand up easier this time around and stiffly totters away from the couch.

“Where’s the bathroom?” He croaks, his voice rough from sleep. 

Barnes points toward the cramped room in the back of the apartment and Steve slowly makes his way in that direction. His hair is mused in every which way and sticking straight up in some spots. He looks like he’s taking a lazy day at a friend’s messy apartment instead of being held against his will by a man that’s tried to kill him at least twice. 

The food has long gone cold but Steve eats as if he hasn’t seen food in weeks. Barnes picks at his, proud of being able to pace himself instead of stuffing himself like he wants. They eat in silence and Steve doesn’t ask him intrusive questions where the food came from or where he got the money from. When Steve finally finishes and he settles back on the couch and cocoons himself in the blanket that Barnes deposited on him earlier. 

With the sun fully up, Barnes can see that Steve is actually paler and a little sweaty looking. The bruises don’t look much different in the morning light. They’re still a garish yellow green and purple in the worst of it. The swollen eyes has opened up to a slit and he absently starts to pick at the stitches around them. 

Stop that, Barnes thinks and either he actually says the words aloud or Steve can read minds now because he stops, shame faced. He turns his restless attention to the edges of the blanket. “What are we doing here, Buc-…Barnes?”

“I’m starting to remember.” 

Steve perks up a little. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“You, mostly. A smaller you. Then a little how you are now.” 

Steve nods slowly and keeps silent, waiting. 

“You were always sick when you were small. And fighting.” A tight pain flashes across his chest and he stands up. “I was always patching ya up. Ya never knew when to stay down.” There’s that accent again. He still can’t place his finger on where it’s from but it crops up from time to time when he speaks English. Steve must know it because a funny look filters on his face while he watches Barnes pace through the room.

“I’m sorry.” Steve says like he’s confessing to all of his sins. 

Barnes stops his pacing and gives him a look. “Don’t apologize.” He says, now annoyed. “You can’t change it.”

Steve wears another odd look, like sadness and pain all mixed together and quietly says, “Yeah, guess I can’t.”

They don’t speak anymore for a long time after that. Steve dozes off and on and he looks worse each time he wakes. A chunk of ice settles at the bottom of his stomach when he finally realizes that Steve is sick. 

He remembers the ambassador that his handlers instructed to make sure suffered a long and painful death. He remembers the long gash he made on the man’s belly, just shallow enough to keep his guts in but deep enough to get infected easily. He remembers the days that the man suffered, chained to a rusty pole, too weak to move.

Steve looks the same. Sweaty and blearily eyed. Warm but still shivering. 

Something kicks into overdrive and snaps inside of Barnes and he finds himself waking Steve up every couple of hours, making sure he knows who he is, what day it is, and pushing cold pastries into his hands.

“M’not hungry, Buck.” He mumbles once but Barnes frowns and then he makes a show of picking at the pastry. He manages to stay awake after, as if the stale dessert gave him some extra energy. He plays with the frayed edges of the blanket he still wrapped in and suddenly smiles to himself.

“What?” Barnes asks, not liking being included in the joke for some reason.

Steve shakes his head a little, the smile still holding fast. Barnes wonders if he’s delirious. “Do you remember your ma?”

Ma. The word is strange to him. Barnes knows what he’s referring to. A mother. He reasons that he must have had one, but instead of clear memories the word dregs up mostly feelings. Warmth and safety. Home.

“I’m not sure.” He admits quietly, almost speaking to himself more than Steve. 

Steve nods and seems satisfied to drop the subject but Barnes finds more words coming out of mouth before he can process what he’s saying.

“I dream of a woman sometimes.” He has Steve’s full attention now. “She’s tall. Brown hair, tied back like mine.” He says, tugging at the bun resting of the nape of his neck.

“That sounds like your ma.” Steve says and he gets a faraway look in his eyes. “She was always worried that I wasn’t eating enough.” He chuckles. “Barely had enough for you and your brothers and sister but made sure that I had something to eat whenever I was over.” He blinks and he’s back in the present day. “Do you remember your sister?” 

“Sister?” He echoes dumbly and Steve just nods, the saint of patience. 

“Becca. She was a few years younger than us.” Steve smiles. “Thought you had hung the moon in the sky.” 

A little girl with wide eyes, always begging to go to the park. Tugging at his sleeve. “Please Bucky! Let’s go, Bucky!”

Steve’s still talking and Barnes notices the shiver that rocks him and the bead of sweat that trails down his hairline.

“You used to tease her. Called her the ugly duckling, the way she followed you around.” He laughs softly. “She’d get so mad.”

Duckling. 

There was others, he remembers now. Other little ducklings that stood in a row, all dressed in leotards and slippers, following him around like he was the momma duck. All ready to follow his command.

“I remember the others.”

Steve’s brows knit together. “The others?”

Barnes can see them as clearly as if they were in this dirty little apartment with them. Five little girls with wide eyes and chubby cheeks. All of them too young and innocent to know how many different ways you could slit a grown man’s throat. 

“The little girls.”

Steve frowns. “What other girls, Buc-Barnes?”

He closes his eyes and shifts through the fragments of his busted mind. He sees them, his five little ducklings.

Yana, the oldest at age twelve, was just starting to come into her curves and losing the extra fat in her face and tummy. She would tell him in a rushed giddy tone how she excelled at the final test. She would graduate soon and there would be one less duckling following him down the halls. 

That made him sad.

Elena was the youngest and knew how to snap a neck in one swift move. The first time she did it, she looked up at him excitedly, naively. She was young. She didn’t know that she shouldn’t ask for praise. He was instructed to punish any of them when they did such things. 

But when he looked down at her large hazel eyes and the stubborn tuffs of brown hair that somehow escaped from her too tight bun, something tugged at him from the back of his brain. He saw another little girl with the same large hazel eyes and unruly chestnut hair that would peer up at him, desperate for his attention. 

“Please, Bucky? Can we go to the pictures? Please, please, please?” 

He would shake away the vision and permit a small smile towards the girl. “Well done, little one.” 

His Russian was flawless. 

Alina had the kind of soft blond curls that he liked to imagine that little boys would tug on while out playing on the school yard if they were allowed normal lives.

She handled a knife as good as he did. She once landed a blow during training and left a deep gash that trailed down his bicep. It healed within the hour but he still gave her a piece of forbidden praise. 

Nina was a spitfire. She was wild, unruly, and high spirted, but loyal to a fault. They had threated to take her out of the program but he fought viciously to keep her. 

“Learn to handle her,” He had told them, “And she will never betray Mother Russia.” 

Then there was Natalia, his little red kit, with a head full of fire colored hair and green eyes that seemed to peer into your soul. What she lacked in stature and strength, she made up for in speed and cunning. 

She was his favorite and he hers. She always led the line of ducklings and was never very far from his side. 

She was the only one that made it into womanhood and then what she lacked in stature and strength, she made up for in beauty and cunning. He remembers now, they woke him up to complete a mission with her years later, so that he could see all his hard work and all his training in action. 

The rich defect saw her the moment she walked into the ballroom and sealed his own fate by approaching her. Barnes had never seen such beautiful knife work. 

“I prefer knifes.” She had said quietly one night, while they moved together in perfect rhythm underneath the bed sheets. She was his deadly red vixen now, still all speed and cunning, and now hips and breasts. “Guns are too quick, too messy. I like to take my time.”

Her Russian was always better than his.

He opens his eyes again and his head aches. “The girls? Natalia? Where are they?” 

Steve’s frown deepens and panic spikes in Barnes’ chest.

They’ve killed them all. They didn’t stop with Nina. They killed all his girls. He didn’t train them well enough. He failed them. He let them all get killed.

“Buck,” Steve starts, “I don’t-“

He fights to keep from wrapping his hands around Steve’s thick neck and strangling him. He fights to not shake him until he understands how important this is. 

He left his ducklings. They froze him and left those little girls on their own. He doesn’t know where Yana, Elena, Alina, or Natalia is. He’s forgotten. He lost them. He lost them. He lost them. He lost them.

He doesn’t realizes that he’s talking out loud until Steve speaks up.

“Buck, I can’t understand you.” He says panicky, looking like he’s on the verge of tears. He looks small, laying back against the couch cushions, pale and sweaty. He has a hand again on his belly, grasping the wound. “I don’t speak Russian. I don’t understand.” 

Steve knows Natalia. He’s just remembered. She was on the bridge with Steve. He knows her. 

“You’ll help me find Natalia. We have to find her before they kill her too.”

Steve shakes his head over and over again. “Buck- I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re saying, Buck. I’m sorry.”

“I do.”

Barnes wheels around a second too late and finds himself staring down the barrel of a gun. He is surprised but not upset. He wasn’t paying attention. He deserves to be killed.

He knows he should be angry that he let someone sneak up on him but instead relief floods over him so quickly that he’s afraid he might collapse. 

His favorite duckling is safe. His little kit is safe. She is still quiet and cunning and beautiful and deadly. 

And is holding a gun to his head.

She’s small and fast. She scurries around him in a red blur. Her blows land hard and fast, and he’s no longer going easy on the girl. Her instructors look pleased even when he pins her to the floor. 

“That is enough for today.” One says and they empty from the room.

He extends his hand, the flesh one, to the girl and she reluctant takes it, allowing him to assist her up. “You did good today, little fox.”

She makes a face before she catches herself and carefully schools it back into a blank expression. “I am not a fox. I will soon be a spider. A Black Widow.”

He takes one last look at her, with her shock of hair pulled into a tight bun and those intense eyes, and shakes his head. “No.” He says firmly. “You are a fox.”

“Natalia.” He breathes. 

Her eyes soften just a little but she doesn’t lower the gun. “Steve, are you ok?” She asks without taking her eyes off of Barnes. 

“Yeah.” Steve pants, his voice tight. “Nat, please don’t shoot-“

She’s turns her attention back to him. “James?” She asks but despite what the museum says, the name still doesn’t sound right to him. 

“Yasha?” She tries and his spine relaxes a margin without his permission. He remembers this name. He remembers hearing it sighed into the curve of his neck.

“Natalia.” He says again because he can. Because there is no one anymore to stop him from saying her name.

“Where are the others, Natalia? What happened to them?” The words tumble out desperately and his voice even cracks on the last word.

Her face makes a little sad expression before she schools it back into a something neutral. 

“You know, Yasha.” She says softly. “You just can’t remember right now. But it’s ok. It’ll come back.”

She slowly tucks the gun in the waistband of her pants, keeping her hands visible the whole time, and moves over to Steve who is now doubled over and a second away from falling off the couch. She gingerly lays him back and pries his hand from his stomach. Barnes can see the red spot slowly spreading across the hospital gown.

“I need to take him back to the hospital.” She says.

“I’m fine,” Steve protests weakly. “The stiches just ripped.” 

“You’re not fine.” She snaps then adds a little more gently, “You’re sick, Steve.” 

Barnes stands frozen in place as she slips under Steve’s arm and helps him to feet. She’s still nimble and strong but Steve pales at least two shades the instant he’s upright. 

Barnes watches as they take an unsteady step forward, an uncoordinated dance of sorts. They are able to make it past him and to the front door before Steve’s knees buckle beneath him. They crash to the ground in a heap of limps. 

Natalia props Steve against the wall. Steve’s hand trembles as he weakly reaches for Natalia’s but her attention is back focused on Barnes. 

“Yasha,” She says softly, her eyes flicker up and down, watching him like a he’s a feral cat. He thinks that she’s not off the mark with that one. “I can’t carry him by myself. Will you help us?” 

He doesn’t realize he’s moving until his back hits the wall hard. Hard enough to leave a crack. He reaches behind him and his hand searches for the door knob. 

He’s bolting. It’s a gross and dirty thing to do after kidnapping a guy and holding him for days but his instincts tell him to run. They tell him to run fast and hard and far. He’s compromised. 

Natalia knows though. He thinks it’s why she asked for help. She’s giving him the choice, opening the door for him. She understands, he knows it.

Maybe they’re both compromised.

Unfortunately, Steve doesn’t quite understand. If he was on the verge of tears earlier, he’s past that point now. Hot, fat tears roll down his face and Barnes’ brain refuses to draw up the correct English words to let him know that he’ll be back. 

Probably. 

He takes out the burner phone from his back pocket and dials 911. “We need an ambulance. Quick. My friend just got stabbed.” He tells the operator in that thick accent and winces Steve chokes out an ugly sob. 

He gives the address, hangs up, and listens when Natalia says gently “Go, Yasha.”

He does. He crushes the burner four blocks away, throws the broken jagged parts in a dumpster, and runs some more.  
*  
Steve had no idea that he was being followed. 

Barnes knows this because Steve is clueless. And he’s sure that if Steve did know then he wouldn’t be standing in front of the Howling Commandos exhibit with those big, sad puppy eyes. 

Barnes also knows because Steve Rogers is a complete moron with a lack of self-preservation and doesn’t check for tails. 

He posts up at the café across the street for a few moments, trying out flirting with the waitress before he follows Steve into the museum. His attempts get a wink from the pretty blond and a phone number written on the bottom of his check. 

He’s improving. 

It’s been two weeks since he kidnapped Steve. He’s recovered one hundred percent other than being a weepy mess most of the time. The infection finally cleared up and he was released back into the world. 

He follows at a distance each day as Steve searches the city for him, peering down alleyways and in small coffee shops. He was able to sneak into wing man’s- his name is Sam’s, he has to remind himself- condo where Steve is staying and plant bugs easily. So he’s able to hear Steve say things that make him sad like:

“I wish she hadn’t found me. He was remembering. I just needed more time with him.”

Or:

“He ran because of me. He left because of me.”

And:

 

“I lost him, Sam. I lost him again.”

Sam tells him that these things aren’t true and Barnes likes him for that. It’s the truth but Steve refuses to listen. He’s more stubborn then Barnes remembers. 

Steve has nightmares almost every night. Barnes can hear him tossing and turning thru the bugs. Sometimes his teeth chatter and clang together so hard and loud that it’s like they’re in the same room. Sometimes he says the name Bucky over and over like a pray. Then he’ll gasp awake, struggling for breath. 

It actually bothers Barnes so much that he tells Natalia. She takes Steve out for lunch the next day and tries to talk to him. He clams up and won’t talk but still gives her a big hug when they say goodbye. He’s a stubborn softie.

He stops by the Bucky Barnes wall, still keeping an eye on Steve, when Natalia suddenly materializes at his side, like an apparition. He pretends like he doesn’t jump and she indulges him.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d find your own people to tail.” He says. 

He’s been surprising himself with all the small quips that have been flying out of his mouth lately. He has to remind himself that they are a dead man’s words, pulled up from his brain by seer muscle memory. 

He’s still blending well into the city. He bought, not stole, the grey hoodie that he’s wearing. Although it hangs a little too lose for his taste. It’s a consist reminder that his body’s metabolism runs too fast whether he has the food to feed it or even the desire to eat. 

His hair is still long. Even now, looking at the close cut that Bucky Barnes once sported, he thinks it looks better how it is now. 

He stole, not bought, the black hair ties that keeps his hair pulled back into a messy version of the buns that he’s grown fond of. He has one single red tie that the granddaughter of the bird bakery couple gave him the last time he was there. She promised that she’d give him a pink one next time. 

Natalia gives him a bright smile and loops an arm through his metal one. “I lost you, darling!” She chirps. “I didn’t notice you slip away!” 

He raises an eyebrow but then notices the family standing three feet to their right. The boy and girl are gazing up at the image of the fallen commando. The girl makes a small noise and tugs on her father’s sleeve.

“Daddy? Can I get a Bucky Bear?”

Her father smiles down at her and ruffles her blond curls. “Sure, sweetheart. If that’s what you want.”

Barnes glances away, feeling like he’s encroaching on their private moment and turns back to Natalia. “They’re not paying any attention to us.” He tells her quietly but still rests his flesh hand on top of hers, playing along. 

“I know. You blend in well.” She says proudly and turns back to the display.

James Buchannan Barnes stares back at them and Barnes admits to himself that it odd staring at a picture of the face he stole. There are a few differences though.

His face has a couple extra fine lines around his mouth and eyes. His eyes are harder, at times almost harsh. He is still working on that. Just in case there is still a chance to look just like this man again.

Natalia pats his arm suddenly and says, “Sometimes it’s nice to pretend.” And he’s convinced that she can now read his mind. But on the off chance that she can’t, he doesn’t tell on himself. He just simply nods, once then twice. 

Steve finally tears himself away from the display case and walks towards the exit. It’s a short trip today, the shortest this week in fact. He and Natalia stay put for a little bit longer and let Steve get a good head start. They can afford it. They’re both too good to lose a lead.

Natalia doesn’t speak again until they step outside into the bright sun and onto the crowded sidewalk. He spots Steve easily, two blocks down talking to a street artist, and allows him to relax more into Natalia’s touch. It feels nice out today. The sun beats down on them and it warms his bones.

“Who are you today, Yasha?” She asks pulling him closer to her. Their arms still linked together, as if they are just a young couple out for a stroll.

He considers her question for a moment. Sometimes he feel like Barnes, who is more of a twisted fragmented version of Bucky and the Winter Solider. 

But there are those rarer days where he felt like the asset, cold and hungry and vicious. He keeps to himself those days, locked in the abandoned one bedroom apartment that’s starting to feel like home. 

More often than not now he feels like James. Who is a new creation consisting of a combination of Barnes and Bucky. 

“James.” He decides and she makes a pleased sound.

Natalia has a knack of catching up with him on those days. Which he knows isn’t coincidence at all. He had found all of the unmarked Russian made bugs two days after she came for Steve. He left them alone though and makes an effort to say things out loud he thinks that she might like in a wide array of different languages. 

They leisurely follow Steve back to Sam’s condo, taking their time and enjoying each other’s company. He doesn’t know the last time he enjoyed being with someone. They follow until they’re satisfied that Steve is safe and not likely to be killed within the last two blocks to the condo.

“I’m leaving for a while.” Natalia says as they come up to a neighborhood park.

“Where?” He asks while checking the parameter. It’s safe.

“My friend Clint-“

“The one with the arrows?” He interrupts and she nods, seemingly pleased that he remembers.

She continues, “He has a safe house down on the coast. I’m going to lay low there for a little while.” 

He nods. It’s smart. Everyone is still tense in the S.H.I.E.L.D / HYDRA aftermath and too many people know Natalia’s face.

He thinks, though, that he’ll be a little sad to her go. She’s been good company and they’re reconnected several times in the past couple of weeks. Like at her place, his place, the bathroom at a coffee shop once…

They walk around the park when she stops and grasps his flesh hand. She looks up at him and those emerald eyes shine brightly. “Would you like to come with me?”

He knows that it’s up to him. She’s encouraged him to choice everything even down to the simplest things like what to eat and when. These past couple of weeks he’s learned that he enjoys sugary foods and sleeping into the late morning hours. 

He thinks about her offer for a moment. If he’s ever been to the coast, he doesn’t remember it. He images the sun beating on his bare back, the salt in the air, and sand oozing between his toes. He thinks he might like it. 

“When do we leave?” He asks and her face lights up with a smile that he knows deep down is only reserved for him. 

“Tonight.” She bumps her shoulder into his and flashes him a grin. “It’ll be just like a vacation.”

He waits in his apartment and listens thru the bugs when Natalia tells Steve that she’s leaving. He half expects Steve to break down and cry again but is pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t. He’s not happy about her leaving however and tries several times to get her to tell where she’s going. She doesn’t give in and he finally says goodbye. He can just about hear her bones being crushed when Steve hugs her goodbye. 

She has a sad little look in her eyes when she picks him up, like she almost doesn’t want to leave. He can relate. 

“Don’t worry,” She tells him when they’re speeding down the highway. “I put extra bugs in Sam’s place. If he even thinks about doing something stupid, we’ll know.” 

*  
The safe house turns out to be a four bedroom, three bath, beach house that was kept off of S.H.I.E.L.D’s books for years and then paid for in cash when S.H.I.E.L.D burned. Its sits right above a private beach. Natalia’s friend takes them through the neighboring houses to assure them that they’re empty. They are the only ones around for miles. 

Clint Barton is the human equivalent of a golden retriever. When they first met he doesn’t hesitate to pull James into a variation of the handshake hug hybrid that he’s seen young people use as a greeting. It’s the first time that he’s experienced intimae physical contact with a complete stranger and not had the impulse to kill them.

On their first night there is a full moon out. James steps out onto the beach and sits on the cold sand for hours just because he can. He’s all alone other than the crab that scuffles up and sits beside him for a while before continuing his journey down the sand. It’s a windy night and the salty air whips his hair around, tying it knots and tangles. He decides that he’ll get in water tomorrow. 

He stretches out like a cat and allows himself to relax. It’s a long process, involving forcing each muscle to lose the tension they hold. He finally gets comfortable and bends his flesh arm behind his head.

His mind wonders and he thinks that the girls would have loved this. He imagines Yana helping Elena make sand castles, listening to the younger girl go on and on about princes and princesses living in castles far away. Nina and Alina covered head to toe in sand from thinking that throwing sand at each other would be a fun game. And Natalia watching from a safe distance, like tonight at her perch by the window, getting enjoyment from merely watching others enjoy themselves.

He joins her at the window, hours later and they sit in silence, watching the waves lap onto the moonlit shore. Something akin to happiness loses in his chest. 

It doesn’t seem to bother Natalia or Clint that he doesn’t sleep for the first week that they are there. Some nights he stumbles past Clint on the way to the refrigerator. The younger man is usually blearily eyed and half a sleep, but always asks if Barnes wants a snack since he’s up. Other nights he merely joins him on the couch and he sees the same haunted look in Clint’s eyes that he’s seen peering back at him in the mirror.

The nightmares aren’t as frequent but memories still come harsh and fast and have resulted in several punched holes in the walls. Then there are the memories that quietly steal him away in the morning and don’t return him until the house is bathed in the soft pink light of dusk. More often than not, he blinks back to himself with his head in Natalia’s lap and her fingers carding through his hair.

It takes James longer than it should to realize that Clint is deaf. He sees him messing with his ear one afternoon and Clint shows him the special hearing aids that Stark made for him. Small enough to go undetected but big enough for him to easily take out, he explains with a wide smile

He has the habit of leaving them out while Natalia is in the house. James doesn’t mind it. It actually gives him an opportunity to brush up on his ASL. Clint lights up like a kid at Christmas when he signs for the first time and his hands explode into of flurry of movement.

James decides that Clint is a good man and is to be trusted and Natalia certainly has a soft spot for him. 

He watches them in wonder when they spar on the beach. They seem to anticipate each other’s every move and their sessions turn into an elegant dance of kicks and punches and flips.  
He notices that she treats Clint with, what could be called, a maternal touch. Often reminding him to eat or sleep. It dawns on him one day that she’s used to taking care of him. That they were lovers. Or still are.

He stumbles through the question late one night as they lay huddled together beneath the bed sheets. “If you would like…or be more…comfortable…with both us…me and Clint…I wouldn’t mind…”

He trails off at the sound of Natalia’s laugh. “Don’t worry, Yasha.” She says in a voice that’s smoother than silk. “I think I can only handle one deadly assassin at a time.” 

He can’t help but to close his eyes as she gently brushes the loose hair from his face. He’s taken to wearing it down since he’s been here. 

When he opens them again, she has a faraway look in hers. “Clint and I haven’t been together like that in a long time.” She traces a slender finger across his lips. “You’re the only one for me now, darling.”

They stay at the beach house for two months. The press finally quiets down about them and it’s more than enough time for Natalia to make the three of them lots of new aliases. They clean out all the weapons that are stashed throughout and Clint pays a kid that lives in town handsomely to air the place out every so often.

James spends an hour saying goodbye to the sand and the ocean.

It’s a two hour drive back to DC. Natalia drives but they take their time, stopping at road side stands to look at nick knacks and a small diner for lunch. 

Clint sits at the counter, slumped over a strawberry milkshake. Natalia and James sit across each other at a booth where he doesn’t have to crank his neck to see the exit. He picks at the pile of fries on the plate in front of him and knows what Natalia is going to say before she opens her mouth.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little.” He admits. The fluttering sensation sitting low in his belly is an unwelcome feeling and happens mainly when he thinks about seeing Steve again. 

The man should hate him, former best friend or not. He shot at, beat, tried to kill, and more recently, kidnapped him. But he knows deep down that the moment Steve sees him again that he won’t even think about those things. He doesn’t deserve that kind of forgiveness. He’s sinned too much in to many ways to ever be forgiven that easily. 

He gags a little and excuses himself outside. He steps out into the warm sun and lights up a cigarette. 

Apparently it was a habit of Bucky Barnes during the war. A habit that society has now deemed as unacceptable. He’s seen the pictures of Bucky Barnes leaned up against a tree with a slim cigarette hanging out of a lips that curled into a grin. He just doesn’t remember doing it. 

The trio had treated themselves, once, to a night at a local bar. He was curious about what exactly attracted Bucky to the sticky things and held him captive. So he charmed a couple from a group of girls and understood the second he pulled in the first smoky inhale. 

Clint had thought the old/new habit was pretty funny. Natalia had an air of disapproval about the whole affair but, in the spirt of free will, had let him do as he pleased. So when she joins him around the side of the diner, he knows that he’s being judged a little. 

“What’s wrong, Yasha?” She asks, sidestepping the fumes with an up turned nose. 

He smiles ruefully and takes another draw. “I feel like him sometimes.” 

She raises an eyebrow in question.

“Bucky.” He clarifies watches the smoke rise up from the tip of the cigarette, dancing and flying away into the breeze. 

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing.” She says, watching the drifting the smoke with him. It’s carefree, He thinks. It’s able to go wherever it wishes. 

“I didn’t know Bucky.” She starts. Her sunglasses are covering up most of her face but he can see that her brows that are pulled together in thoughtfulness. “I can only go what I’ve read and what Steve has told me. But I do know you.” 

She takes his metal hand and he ghosts his flesh thumb over her shoulder where he knows that underneath the leather jacket is a still healing puffy fleshy pink scar. 

He regrets it. Just like he regrets the matching scar by her hip. Or nearly killing Steve. Or really killing all those people. So many people. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers and he’s not sure what exactly he’s apologizing for. Maybe all of it.

“I know you, Yasha.” She says again and cups the side of his with her hand. He leans into her touch and the cigarette is dropped and forgotten. 

“You are a good man. Steve Rogers knows that. I know it.” She smiles. “We just have to let the rest of world know it too.”

He swallows her words up in a messy, desperate kiss. He must taste horrible, like grease and smoke, but she returns the kiss with such passion that it knocks his breath away. She is sweet, so sweet, and he takes her in greedily. 

Like always, her Russian is perfect and flawless.

*  
They wind up making a long last minute detour and take Clint to New York. They drop him off at his apartment that looks almost as bad as James’ back in DC. He gets to meet Clint’s one eyed dog and a raven haired girl that calls herself Hawkeye too. He likes them both.

Natalia shows him the sights and he discovers that he knows this city. He’s not sure how but they wonder the streets together and he leads, taking them down paths and alleyways that feel familiar. He finds that he knows the bones of this big city as well as the bones in his own body.

Steve’s been hinting to Sam that he wants to go back to New York and James decides that it’s not such a bad place to be. 

They finally make the long drive back to DC. It’s spent in the comfortable silence that they’ve made their own. When she does speak, she somehow convinces him to leave his apartment and stay with her.

“Just until you figure out where you want to go.” She says with a casual shrug and it makes sense. He likes the open endless of it too. He can decide where he will go. 

That night he dreams of New York and a skinny kid fighting in the alleyways.

Natalia tells Steve that she’s back and he asks to see her. He’s missed her, James over hears when they speak on the phone. He wants to talk. He’s inching for a change. 

“I think I need to get out of here, Nat.” Steve says and James doesn’t like how her face pulls together in a heartbroken kind of way.

“Just hang in there, Steve.” She says. “We’ll get together soon. I promise.”

She doesn’t speak until late that night. “Are you going to hide from him forever?” She asks while pressed against his chest. 

“I don’t know.” He says and she sighs.

“You need to decide.”

“I know.”

They don’t talk anymore about it for a couple of days. He takes her to the bird bakery and finds that he’s relieved that it’s open and they’re still alive. They both fall all over Natalia and tell James that they’re thrilled he’s found a nice Russian girl. 

“How is your company?” Mrs. Lukina asks and James is insanely proud that he remembers her name.

“Better.” He answers, accepting the pink hair band that he was promised from their granddaughter. “I’m going to see him today, actually.”

He doesn’t think that he’s seen Natalia smile so brightly before.

He sits in the car while Natalia knocks on the condo door. His stomach is doing flips and he’s sure that he’s never been so nervous. His fingers twitch for a cigarette. He wants just one but knows the temporary relief isn’t worth Natalia’s rage for smoking in her car.

He sees when Steve answer the door. He sweeps Natalia off her feet in another bone crushing hug. He’ll have to remind Steve that she’s not a super solider like them. 

Her back is too him so he can’t see what she says when Steve stops crushing her but it stops him in his tracks. The color drains from his face as he listens to what she has to say. He then cranes his neck around her, desperately trying to look at her car. 

He knows that the windows are too dark. He’s hidden in here and for a fleeting moment gets cold feet. But he knows Natalia is right. He can’t hide forever.

He opens the door and forces himself out, putting one leg at a time out. When he is all the way out of the car, he sees her one manicured hand placed on his chest as if she’s having to physically hold Steve back. 

James leans against the car, playing it cool instead of showing how his knees are trembling uncontrollably. He takes a deep breath and nods once at Natalia. It’s now or never. He’s ready as he’ll ever be.

She removes her hand and Steve starts down the sidewalk like a dog that’s been let off its leash. He notices that Steve’s hands are shaking just as badly as his own. He glances up and Natalia gives him a small encouraging smile before stepping inside the condo with Sam.

Steve finally reaches James and they’re both at loss for words. James falls back on his old/new habit and takes out the cigarette pack from his pocket. He grins at Steve’s slightly scandalized look as he lights up and his nerves are instantly calmed by the sticky inhale. 

“Want one?” He offers balancing his stick between his index and middle finger and extending another to the other man.

“God, yes.” Steve answers and lights up. James surprises himself by the laugh that escapes him. Steve starts at the sound at first too but soon joins in. 

Then they are just two young men, smoking by the city street ignoring the ugly looks from passersby’s. They stay like this for several moments before Steve finally breaks the silence. He glances over nervously.

“How have you been, Buck-“He shakes his head hard and ducks it, correcting himself. “I mean Barnes. Sorry.” 

He allows himself a small smile. “It’s James now. And I’m doing pretty well. Thinking about moving back to New York.”

Steve beams, brighter and warmer then than sun. James soaks it in and lets it warm his bones. They stand on the sidewalk for hours and watch their smoke dance back and forth, making its way wherever it choices to go.


End file.
